


The one with the goat in it

by illwynd



Category: Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, M/M, Mythology References, Overstimulation, Rimming, Tongue in Cheek: A Thorki Anthology, Uncle/Nephew Incest, trickster shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 14:20:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15583806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illwynd/pseuds/illwynd
Summary: It begins with the goat, and it leads to Skaði's wedding, and Thor has been tasked with keeping an eye on his uncle Loki during the celebrations. This might just be a dangerous task.





	The one with the goat in it

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the thorki anthology [Tongue in Cheek](https://thorki-anthology.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Art below by my partner in crime, the amazing and wonderful [Lokisergi](http://lokisergi.tumblr.com/).

It all began with the goat, when Skaði came to Asgard and demanded vengeance for her father’s death. But that story started when the giants came flying into Asgard and were slain in a havoc of blood and fire and blades—and that tale began when Loki was dragged into the skies by a great eagle and was carried off to Jotunheim—and that tale...

In truth, it all began long before that, when Odin, wandering in the wilds, found the trickster in a place that was neither here nor there; neither one has ever named the road they met upon, except that it was someplace between realms, all shadowy and full of mists. Odin, the Allfather, found him and recognized at once his quick cleverness and his sly mind, and he saw in him a kindred spirit and made promises to him across a lonely fire, a flickering glow upon two faces, all surrounded in darkness beneath the stars. That was where it truly began, and afterward with Odin bringing his companion home with him, arm in arm, and presenting him to all the gods as his blood-brother. And the years that followed, in which the trickster did not quite become a part of Asgard, having no hall of his own and keeping his own strange ways, yet Loki remained among them.

Odin’s wife looked at him with one brow raised but allowed it. Odin’s firstborn son—the young god of storms—gazed up at him with awe and listened to his clever tales, watched his tricks, his feats of magic, his sleights of hand. Not for many years would the novelty of the trickster’s presence wear away and his welcome in Asgard begin to thin, which would inevitably lead… well, there is no need yet to speak of the end, in telling of the beginning.

Let us merely start with the goat, for simplicity.

The goat, most likely, had no idea what use it would be put to when that day began. Happily it had been munching on the long grass in the field since that morning, wandering under the warm early sunlight while a kid or two frolicked nearby. The goat’s strange-pupiled eyes only occasionally turned up to the commotion occurring on the other side of the wooden fence, where there was a gathering of gods coalescing to the sound of shouting.

The goat knew, more or less, what gods were. It was only a goat and had no notion of the length of their lives, and it was a goat, so it did not think anything much of the powers they occasionally manifested in its presence, but it knew that they were near as stubborn and ornery as goats and a fair bit tougher if put to it, and that was probably an adequate description.

So it ignored the commotion until one of them had leaped over the fence and stalked across the field.

It gave an uncertain bleat when the Ás approached it meaningfully. All of the gods were large compared to a goat, but this one towered, with arms thick with muscle and a large hammer dangling from his broad belt. Red-blond hair shining in the sun, and a close-cropped beard around a mouth pressed into an angry, uncomfortable line as he stalked nearer.

The goat took a few sidling steps sideways, still chewing on its mouthful of grass.

Then, in quite a sudden movement, quicker than the goat expected of such a large creature, the Ás lunged forward and got a rope around the goat’s neck before it could react, and it bleated louder, with some alarm, as it was captured and tied and led across the field, toward the fence, toward the clustered crowd of gods.

It was a smart enough animal to be apprehensive at these events.

It was also smart enough to become even more nervous when it was led through the gate and found itself facing a slender god with wild hair and glinting eyes. The man showed far too many teeth, for one, and he beckoned to the one who held the lead.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Loki?” that man said, still frowning.

(The goat was also smart enough to have deciphered their speech over the years, though it was rarely worth its trouble to bother.)

The wild-looking god gave a laugh. “Don’t you trust me?” He clicked his tongue, disapproving. “This is my area of expertise, you know. You can leave it all to me.”

Then Loki dropped his trousers and conjured another rope from thin air, and this time attached one end of it to himself—looping it twice around the ruddy flesh of his stones just peeking out beneath the rucked-up hem of his tunic—before stepping near and tying the other end to the tuft of long hair that grew from the goat’s chin, and at the same time, the other Ás untied the rope from around its neck.

At all these goings-on, the goat gave one more bleat of distress and then, when a smack landed upon its rump, it began to run, and Loki came frantically chasing after.

Moments later, the laughter rose from all around.

*

Thus, because of the goat, there was a wedding some days later, and Loki was there also.

Or rather, he had been. He had arrived with the rest of the high gods late that fine morning, bowed to Skaði (who still looked upon him with narrowed eyes, despite having laughed—or perhaps that was why, having through Loki's intervention received all she demanded as weregild, even the things the Æsir should never have been able to grant. She had been expecting to take vengeance instead, to wear blood instead of wedding attire. Loki grinned as she glared.) And then, after the amusement of her discomfiture wore off, he had spent the next hour or so wandering among the mingling crowd. Nibbling the dainties that had been set out on the long tables—because the actual feast was of course not until later—and draining a mug or two of ale to wash it down. Tapping his foot to the music being played under the shade of a few trees, drums and horns and fiddles. Chuckling at the contests of strength that had been arranged for the young men who would otherwise have grown bored, watching as they fought and yelled.

Eventually Loki had grown bored himself and sought and found a gaggle of bridesmaids to pester… only to be almost immediately dragged away by an angry thunder god.

A thunder god who had grown quite a lot—in all senses, though not least in the breadth of his shoulders—from the time Loki had first met him, and Loki squawked as he was hauled rudely out of the midst of the crowd, to the very edge of the field of Iðavöll.

“What was that for?” he scoffed, rubbing at his bicep when Thor at last released it and stood between him and the celebrations.

“You were bothering them.”

“Are you jealous that I was not bothering you instead?”

And though clearly Thor meant to be scowling, meant to be stern and unmoved, a flush spread across his cheeks at the words, the insinuation. Under the day’s bright sunlight, the cloudless sky above, it was unmistakable, and Loki smirked.

It was exactly the sort of thing that drew him, no matter how foolish an attraction it was. A blushing, angry thunder god, standing stubborn before him; how could Loki be expected to resist?

Loki’s smirk deepened at the thought of what he could do.

And Thor _did_ scowl, insistent. “Father said it was my duty today to keep an eye on you and ensure that you do not make a nuisance of yourself.”

“Well, then, I suppose you must,” Loki answered. “But I warn you, it won’t be easily done. I already have certain nuisances in mind. Would you like to know of them?”

Thor’s brow knitted, and he gave a sharp nod.

“Come with me, then. I’ll tell you. Only not here. Come walk with me and you will learn of all my plans.”

It was amusing to watch Thor realize this for the sort of offer it was, amusing to watch him squirm with uncertainty. Could he accept? His father had asked him to keep watch on the trickster, so was it not simply his duty to go along? Surely Loki could do less harm if Thor was there with him, no matter precisely how they spent their time.

Loki could practically watch the path of his thought as he hesitated.

Thor never hesitated for long, though, and it was the same now, the blush spreading to the tips of his ears as finally he acquiesced and followed the much-pleased Loki into the woods that surrounded the field of Iðavöll.

*

Only a little while later the sunlight warmed all of Thor’s skin, from his chest to his bare, wiggling toes.

He lay sprawled, laughing, upon a blanket that Loki had impossibly pulled from the small pouch upon his belt; Loki had conjured it, spread it out upon the ground when they had reached a high hillside (only barely sloped in that place) that was hidden from the sight of the valley below but open to the skies above but for a few overhanging branches, a few whispering green leaves.

“You’re beautiful in the sunlight, Thor. I want to see it. All of you,” Loki had said, voice heated and full of intense interest, when he chose the spot and made his intentions even clearer than before.

Thor fell under the spell of it, just as he had so many times before, a little guilty but far too excited to stop himself. Just as when they had traveled together to Utgard years before, at Thor’s insistence, an indulgence he demanded of his uncle after he had reached the age when he was counted a man.

“Adventures with you, just like my father had,” he had said.

And then Thor had waited for a moment of drunken boldness, taken hold of the trickster and kissed him, pulled toward him despite everything that had happened in the years before. The lies and deceits—Thor had grown aware of them, he had seen so many of them revealed, and he felt them in the little raised scars on Loki’s mouth, pale tally marks of all the mischief Loki had done. Thor had felt them against his own lips when they kissed.

So now, just as entranced as he had been then, Thor stripped down willingly when Loki asked him—aware of the strangeness of being left in nothing but his bare skin while Loki knelt beside him still fully clothed, a strangeness that fluttered through him—though he had grown enough in prudence and wisdom to make Loki again promise to reveal his plans once he had been sated.

“Of course,” Loki vowed. “I already said I would, didn’t I?”

Thor nodded, biting his lip.

Loki gazed at him. “And you trust me, don’t you?”

At that, Thor hesitated, filling his lungs with breath to buy time. Letting it out again. “I… trust you somewhat,” he answered at last.

Loki’s reply was a burst of laughter, slapping his hand upon the ground. A sharp grin, and something sharper in his green eyes. “That is better than I’ll get from anyone else in this realm. Thank you, Thor. Your honesty is refreshing.”

Thor squirmed while Loki continued to look at him, his eyes traveling up and down Thor’s form. Pausing at the juncture of his thighs, where his cock rested, thickened a bit from the prospect of what was to come but not yet fully hard.

Then it was no longer Loki’s eyes wandering upon him but his hands, as Loki leaned over him, touching, fingers feather-light upon the soft inner skin of his arms.

Thor gazed up at him, the last bits of guilt burning in his belly. This was certainly not what his father had meant when he said to keep Loki from mischief. Thor was not meant to be shivering under Loki’s touch, the scrape of fingernails against his scalp, hands tugging at his hair.

But then Loki’s mouth was upon his, and Thor let his lips part, let Loki’s tongue invade.

He tried to part his thighs then also, but all too soon Loki slipped away, leaving him dazed, groping, trying to draw him back down, but Loki perched above on outstretched arms. He tilted his head in a little gesture, and when he spoke his voice was full of hunger that made Thor only shiver more.

“They are by now feasting down there in that valley, I would guess. But I have a far better feast before me, and I mean to devour it.”

*

Loki could be blamed for many things, but wanting Thor was surely not one of them.

When he had met Thor, little more at the time than an untested youth, he had noticed him only as his blood-brother’s boisterous firstborn. But Thor had grown into something truly magnificent.

Red-blond hair gleamed in its plaits, down past his broad shoulders. A strong body that yet retained a look of tenderness, and Loki knew it to be true. Golden skin soft and sensitive, freckled here and there. Big, graceful hands often curled around the haft of a mighty hammer but now merely curled empty beside his head. Guileless blue eyes, both nervous and excited, as they so often were when they looked at him.

It was tempting, with Thor sprawled out panting before him, to merely give him whatever he wanted. But Loki had a purpose in this, and it was one that made his mouth water.

He meant to make Thor squirm. He meant to taste him everywhere.

Whole minutes kissing, licking down Thor’s throat, to his clavicle, his muscled shoulders; the tip of Loki’s tongue traced lines between his freckles, finding each one sweeter than the last.

“Loki,” Thor groaned.

“Mm?” Loki answered, barely bothering to look up.

And he went even slower once he reached Thor’s chest, the tight little pink nipples already perking up for him.

*

They had been alone in the wilds on the road to Utgard the first time Loki discovered it. Thor would never forget waking up to the feeling of his uncle plastered against his back, arms around him, fingers upon his chest, pinching, and his own body already beginning to respond, buzzing and warm, still only half awake.

“Such a little bit of touch,” Loki had murmured in his ear, nipping at his neck, while Thor moaned. “Such a little bit, and already you would give yourself to me, wouldn’t you?”

Thor had not been able to gather breath to admit that it was so.

So Loki had discovered how sensitive he was to such things, turning Thor on his back so that he could close his lips around one peak while his fingers teased the other. And when his mouth rested, it was only to perch his chin upon Thor’s breast and smile up at him, fond and amused at the sounds he made, the way he writhed and whimpered.

Hours of torment, until both Thor’s nipples were tender and raw and need was a bright, hot surge running through him. Loki had discovered that, and in the same night discovered how the thunder might tear across the dark sky outside their little shelter, while Thor thrashed and pleaded, unaware of what he had unconsciously done.

Thor was no longer so young, so brash, his powers so uncontrolled, yet the memory still made his cheeks burn for how delighted Loki had been.

They burned again now as Loki’s eyes flashed up at him, his lips closed around a tight pink nub as he suckled.

Thor knew better than to beg for Loki not to do the same again; all he could do was hope, anticipation rolling up and down his nerves like a current, like the jolts of pleasure that Loki’s mouth and fingers wrung from him. All he could do was pant and writhe and silently plead with the Norns.

And at last Loki did continue his path down Thor’s body, his teeth nipping at the soft skin of Thor’s belly, then following the angle of muscle down to his hip, drawing even with the place where his erection throbbed.

*

The tension.

This was what Loki loved; this was what he could not do without. The feeling of the tremble that ran through Thor’s body as Loki kissed his hipbone, so near to where his swollen cock twitched with the need to be touched. The feeling of the squirm that ran through him as Loki only smothered a laugh against soft skin and continued his downward path, lavishing attention on Thor’s thighs, ghosting breath through the sparse blond fur upon them.

There was a tension also in pushing those thighs apart so he could kneel between them.

A tension in Thor’s body, as he tried to sense what Loki would do to him next.

A tension in Loki’s belly at the knowledge that Thor was _letting_ him, giving himself over. Thor knew what sort of creature he was, what sort of mischief it was in his nature to do, and yet he allowed Loki everything. He seemed even to crave it, though the notion made Loki’s brow knit.

With tense hands he kneaded at the softest part of Thor’s thighs, thinking of what he meant to do, the whole scheme of it.

He should not have still been here at all, in Asgard among those who distrusted him. Anyone with any sense would have fled long ago, rather than staying to get the Æsir into and out of scrapes, as if he were no more than a charm for good fortune. They repaid him with their wariness and their spite, and it would only grow worse, until he suffered more than the lingering ache from a rope he himself tied.

The only one who still wished for his presence anymore was Thor. He should have been gone.

But here he still was, with his plots and plans, and the thunder god laid out before him, wholly naked but for the glow of sweat and sunlight, trusting, waiting.

The tension…

Thor let out a cry of surprise as Loki put his hands beneath his knees and lifted, pushing back until he had him bent in two, positioned as Loki wanted, hips raised and everything on display. The little red-blond curls, glistening in the fading sunlight. The ruddy cock, bobbing and leaking a few drops of clear fluid onto his stomach already.

Loki leaned over far enough to kiss it, soft and slow, feeling the pulse in the vein and the firmness of the hard flesh, hearing Thor’s long, hitched moan. Breathing in the musky, male scent of him. Trailing his lips lower, down over the crinkled balls, which tightened further at the light touch of his tongue and the puff of breath from his lips.

His aim, though, was the clenched little pink pucker beneath, and he felt the tremor that passed through Thor’s body when he realized it as well.

Loki had never kissed it before, but he wanted to. It looked delicious, and he nosed in to taste it before Thor could argue.

The sound Thor made was a helpless cry as Loki’s tongue first touched his flesh, exploring, savoring the salt of his skin.

The cry turned into a whimper turned into gasping words. “Loki… what are you...:”

Loki turned his face just enough to sink teeth into the roundness of a buttock, just for a moment, sucking on the flesh after.

“Feasting upon you, as I said.”

“You… you cannot,” Thor protested, sounding more scandalized than truly distraught.

“Do you mean to refuse?” Loki asked, and nibbled again at the pert curve of skin. “I think you will like it, if you’ll let me. You’ve enjoyed all else I’ve suggested, have you not?”

A few more hitching breaths, then a noise of agreement. “All right. I’ll let…”

When Loki turned his attention back to the sensitive little opening, it was to place his lips upon it in a deep, wet kiss.

The sounds Thor made turned swiftly into moans. It took only the press of Loki’s hands on his legs to keep him pinned—Thor, the thunder god, strongest of the Æsir, who had been commanded by Odin himself to keep Loki from any mischief. It did not take much—the agility of a silver tongue, the soft texture of a scarred mouth—to have Thor squirming, pleading, whimpering Loki’s name, tension running through him in waves that Loki too could feel. It would not take much more for Thor to lose control completely.

Loki wanted that, with a wretched pleasure, a delicious pain. One he always seemed to bring upon himself. He could not help it.

He rocked his hips on nothing, savoring the feeling, wanting.

His plan was going to succeed.

With his face so buried in such warmth, it took him a little while to notice how the breeze that ruffled his hair had cooled and the heat of the sun had faded from his back.

*

Thor kept his eyes squeezed shut.

When Loki had first begun, all Thor had been aware of was the _strangeness_. The sensations, new and unimagined—how a tongue felt in that place, smooth as velvet, yet with a subtle texture that set his nerves alight, and so very wet. The sensation of Loki flattening his tongue to lap across, the tantalizing feeling as if that tongue might dip inside.

All things Thor had never before imagined—filthy and forbidden—and Loki was doing this to him without hesitation.

It had always left Thor unsettled, angry with himself, that he was unable to feel any differently than he did. That he desired Loki so much, drawn to him by the same things everyone else distrusted, the things he too should have despised.

But it was impossible to hold such a thought in his mind when Loki’s tongue, hot and saliva-slick, delved finally and repeatedly within him, a shallow fucking but with an intensity that made Thor unable to stop his moans.

Loki paced his motions to Thor’s responses, feeling what he wanted and giving it to him, until Thor felt like a string about to snap, gooseflesh all over his body, legs tensing in Loki’s grasp.

Desperate, he needed something more.

He reached down, trying to drag Loki up to finally take him, instead only managing to get a handful of Loki’s hair tangled in his fingers, to press his face closer. It made Loki laugh, the sound muffled and slippery against Thor’s skin. It made Loki lick him more firmly, driving his tongue inside.

It made Thor almost sob.

 

  
Art by [Lokisergi](http://lokisergi.tumblr.com/)

There was nothing else in the world but him and Loki, the sky above and the ground beneath his back and the rush coursing through him. All of Loki’s attention fixed on him, on pleasing him… but it was not enough. He did not have Loki’s arms around him, did not have Loki’s brow pressed against his.

The raindrops began to splash upon Thor’s body, coursed down his face.

“Please, Loki,” Thor begged. “Please, I need…”

Loki did not wait for him to finish the words, only released his legs and slithered up to kneel above him, hand curling around his aching cock and stroking, tugging. Loki’s mouth upon his, kissing him deeply, deeply.

And Loki’s body sheltered him as he came apart, crying out, as the rain pelted down in a deluge while lightning whited out the world.

Afterward, Thor lay panting while Loki smeared the puddles of his spend into the rainwater on his skin and caressed softening flesh until sensitivity made him twitch and gasp. Loki draped himself across, petting Thor’s damp hair, while Thor’s wits slowly returned to him.

“Well, I suppose I have to tell you now, as I vowed,” the trickster said, all in tones of innocence, brushing kisses across Thor’s face. “I plan to make it storm during the wedding. I think that might spoil the celebration a bit, and it seems like an enjoyable way to pass the time.”

Only then did Thor feel the cold of the wind on his wet skin, as he pushed Loki away. The afterglow faded quickly while Loki watched him with a strange eagerness.

Thor felt a hollow in his belly that remained as he dressed, awkwardly and with some difficulty tugging on his soaked garments. He felt a burning in his chest. He did not dare look his uncle in the eye.

*

By the time they returned to the field of Iðavöll, it was a ruin.

Tables scattered with soggy loaves. Flooded trenchers. Abandoned cups and plates.

The white sun-awning under which the couple had been meant to be handfasted lay fallen, waterlogged.

Everyone had fled, seeking shelter from the unexpected storm.

Loki strolled amidst all this ruin, seeming unconcerned, and picked up a stein left on one of the tables; half watered it might have been, but he took a mouthful anyway and gave a shrug before setting it back down.

In Thor, guilt warred with outrage, for he was at fault yet Loki had caused it. Loki had brought it about, knowingly. He had _used_ Thor for his mischief. And he had done it in a way that no one could fail to realize what had happened, for surely they had all noted that both the lord of storm and the mischief god had together been absent when the rain began.

Thor’s fists clenched at his sides.

“Why must you do this!” he said at last. “Do you grudge Skaði so much for an indignity you took upon yourself? Or is it my father you mean to offend? Tell me!”

Loki’s mouth was a tense line, scored with white tally marks.

“Skaði means nothing to me. And there is nothing I can do or say that will change your father’s opinion of me at this point.”

Overhead, a renewed crackle of thunder sounded.

“Then why?”

The line broke into a grin.

“Because I love you. That ought to be clear enough.”

Thor did not understand. The sky grumbled once more, and a few cold drops fell from it like an afterthought.

And after they both had gone, Thor stomping away and Loki following after, all that was left in the field of Iðavöll—aside from so much ruin—was the mud and the trodden grass and the soft sound of a bell, and a bleating from somewhere very near as the goat ambled closer to the fallen feast and revised its opinion of the gods.


End file.
